


Camping

by itchyfingers



Series: Richard and Layla [4]
Category: Richard Armitage - Fandom
Genre: Camping, F/M, Fighting, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itchyfingers/pseuds/itchyfingers





	1. Chapter 1

Richard looked down at Layla still sleeping in their bed. She’d wrapped herself around his pillow, face hidden under a nimbus of her own hair. Any other day he would have evicted the pillow and claimed his rightful place in her arms, but this morning they were on a schedule.

“Layla, you need to get up, darling.”

The noise she made barely sounded like it came from a human. Richard sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair back from her face. “Come on, it’s going to be fun.”

Layla rolled away from him and pulled the blanket over her head but Richard tugged the blanket back down and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled into him, pressing a kiss against his throat. “Why don’t we _both_ go back to bed?”

She could feel his laugh as he carried her. He put her down and cold tile shocked her feet. “I’m going to go finish loading the jeep. We’re leaving in thirty minutes. I’ll have coffee waiting for you.”

Layla yawned so wide she thought her skull might split open and then wearily opened her eyes to find herself standing in the shower. She turned on the water and screamed as she was pelted with the needle sharp vengeance of a melting glacier. She jumped back, now wide awake but cranky. She was so used to Richard being in here with the shower running before she joined him that she had forgotten to let the water warm up.

Twenty-five minutes later she trudged out the front door to find Richard stowing the last few items in the back of the jeep.

“You look radiant this morning, sweetness.”

She scowled, wondering where her sunglasses were. “I don’t know if new hiking boots are worth the trade-off of having to get up this early.”

“Your coffee is in the car, and I thought we would stop at that little bakery you like on the way out and get apple fritters.”

She walked over to him and let her head fall on his shoulder. “I love you.” He laughed and she said, “No, really, I do, and I swear I’ll be more cheery once the caffeine hits my system.”

“I know.” He kissed her temple softly. “I know how you are in the mornings, dearest.”

“You do. And yet you still love me, giant crazy man.”

“Go get in the jeep. Drink your coffee. I’m going to go make sure all the lights are off and everything’s locked.” He patted her on the rear as she turned around, earning him a sleepy smile.

An hour later, her coffee finished and working on her second fritter, she asked, “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

He smiled and shook his head. “It’s still a surprise.”

She laughed. “I’ll see if I can figure it out before we get there. We’re heading north, so I’m going to rule out Dover and Bath.”

“You’re very smart.”

She pulled a map out of the glove box and unfolded it trying to find London. She turned the giant piece of creased paper over, paused and looked for a while and then flipped it over again. A minute later she turned it upside down. She folded it in half and half again. She looked out the window, back at the map, out the window, back at the map, turned around and looked out the back window, back at the map, and then rolled down the window and threw the map out the window.

“That map is defective.”

“That map was of France.”

“That explains why I couldn’t find London.” She started laughing.

“That map also wasn’t ours. I borrowed the jeep, remember.”

She frowned at the gentle chiding. “I’ll buy a replacement.”

“How could you not tell the difference between France and England on a map? I would think seeing Paris on there would be a clue.”

“I saw Paris. That’s why I turned it over. I thought England would be on the other side.”

He darted a glance at her. “And the fact that names were all French didn’t make you realize something was amiss?”

“I read French as fluently as I read English, and at this godawful hour of the morning it didn’t really click as being the wrong language.”

“I didn’t know you read French.”

She turned her head to stare at him in dismay. “The French magazines I read aren’t a clue?”

“I thought you were just looking at the pictures.”

Her jaw dropped slightly as she stared at him. “You thought I was just looking at the pictures,” she repeated slowly.

“Well, they are fashion magazines. They have lots of pretty pictures in them.”

“Yes, and I _write_ about fashion for a living.” She looked out the window. “Not that that seems to matter to you,” she muttered.

“Of course what you do matters to me.”

“Not enough to actually make time to come to New York, though.” She turned to look at him again. “I remember when you first asked me out you told me that you wanted to go to a fashion show with me and have me teach you the difference between houndstooth and herringbone. Times sure have changed.”

“Couldn’t you teach me the difference between those here?”

“Of course I could. I could use the internet or bring home fabric swatches.” She sighed heavily, picking pieces of apple out of her fritter. “But it was the idea of you actually wanting to be involved in part of my life that I liked. That you thought being part of my world was worth sacrificing some of your time for.”

“Unlike your complete unbridled cheerful enthusiasm for this camping trip.”

She was surprised at the heavy sarcasm in his voice. “Yesterday was month end and you got me up at five thirty in the morning. I’ve had four hours of sleep so I’m sorry if I’m not a ray of sunshine.”

“It’s not just this morning, Layla. You’ve whined and complained every time I’ve brought this trip up.” He picked up his coffee and took a drink, wishing he could wash the bitter taste of this conversation out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry! I’ve still got nightmares from the last time I went camping and that was twenty years ago. Excuse me for not being full of joy for getting to go confront my traumatic past.” She went back to staring out the window.

“You’re being overly dramatic.”

“That’s better than having no opinion about anything at all,” she muttered.

“What are you getting at?”

She whirled on him. “You have no opinion about anything to do with our wedding. Even what you’re wearing. You don’t care.”

“You’re the expert. I defer to your judgment.”

“But _why_ don’t you care? It’s like you don’t even want to get married.”

He sighed. “I want to be married to you, Layla. The actual marriage ceremony isn’t that important to me.”

“So maybe I should stop planning this huge party you said you wanted and we can just pop down to the registrar and snog in front of a clerk and get it over with.” She was starting to gesticulate wildly as she spoke, her head moving to emphasize her derision.

“If that’s what you want, then I’m happy with that. I asked you to be my wife, Layla, not my bride.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles starting to turn white as he struggled to keep his temper under control.

“But I _want_ to be a bride. I want the big party and a pretty dress.”

“Then _have it_.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I gave you my credit card. Get whatever you want.”

“But it’s your wedding too. What do _you_ want?”

“I want a big party. That’s all. I don’t care about color schemes or flowers or minute variations in typeface for the invitations.”

“So, any of the stuff that I am doing, basically.”

“Layla, we could rent out a nightclub and put the bar on our tab and I would be fine. As long as we’re there and the people we love are there, the rest of the stuff is just nonsense. It doesn’t need to be pretty.”

“But pretty matters! Image matters!” She was bouncing in her seat from her pent-up frustration.

“It matters to _you_.”

“It matters to you, too. That’s why you hated having to go be around the other dwarves when you weren’t in full prosthetics and costume. You hated having them see you as anything less than Thorin Oakenshield, King in Exile. You just don’t think the image that I care about is important, because it’s _just_ fashion. Well, I love this, and I love what I do, and I love making things beautiful, and when you don’t care about any of it, I feel like you don’t care about me.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “So because I don’t have an opinion on serif versus non serif fonts for our wedding invitations, I don’t love you? Do you realize how stupid that sounds?”

“You’re right,” she said quietly. “That is pretty stupid.”

Richard realized what he had said as she shrunk in on herself. “Layla, I didn’t–”

“Can you pull over? I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Of course.” He edged over to the side of the motorway and turned on the hazard lights. Layla hopped out of the jeep, grabbed her purse and slammed the door shut behind her. She started walking along the side of the road.

Richard jumped out of the vehicle and ran after her. “Layla, get back in the jeep.”

“No.”

“Layla, it’s not safe out here.” He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You need to get back in the jeep.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got my nice new hiking boots on so I’ll just walk to the nearest off-ramp and ring a cab to take me to the train station. And I’ve got your credit card to pay for all of it. I’ve got everything I need, so don’t bother yourself.” She dodged around him but he grabbed her with one strong arm and pinned her against his side.

“Layla, I’m not joking. I will not let you do this. We’re ten kilometres from the nearest town. You’re not walking on the side of the motorway where some idiot could swerve and hit you.”

“What are you going to do, Richard? You going to pick me up and carry me?” She shoved him but he was immovable.

“If I have to.”

She glared up at him, hating the calm dispassionate way he met her anger. “Fine.” She bit off the word and turned around, stalking back towards the jeep, the blinking lights matching time with her steps. He followed her and went to his side of the jeep. As he reached for his door, she pivoted and sprinted down the shoulder of the road.

“God damn it, Layla,” Richard bellowed. He chased after her, quickly overtaking her and grabbing her around the waist. Passing cars laid on their horns, and the blaring accompaniment continued as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He marched back to the jeep as she pounded on his back, swearing at him to let her down. The wail of a siren cut through her tirade, and she stopped as she heard a man’s voice on a speaker say, “Put the woman down, sir.”

She felt herself being gently lowered to the ground and she looked over her shoulder to see a police officer standing at his car with a megaphone. “Sir, can you please put your hands where I can see them?”

Richard glared at Layla and slowly raised his hands above his head. Layla could see the muscle in his jaw throbbing and stepped back from him.

The police officer approached the two of them and said, “Sir, I’m going to ask you to put your hands on the bonnet of the vehicle while I check you for weapons.”

Richard quietly did what he was told. Layla bit her bottom lip as she watched him get patted down, feeling the humiliation and anger rolling off Richard in turbulent waves. “He’s not dangerous, officer. We were just having an argument, that’s all.”

“It looked like a bit more than an argument to me, miss,” the officer said as he turned to her, a grey mustache hiding his top lip.

“Well, we’re getting married in a few months, and I’ve gone kind of crazy with wedding planning, and I think I’ve gone a bit Bridezilla in hindsight. Told ‘im if he didn’t care about the font on the invites that he didn’t love me. Sounds right _stupid_ in hindsight, it does. But I told him I was carsick and to pull over and he did and I took off runnin’. He was just bringing me back before I got myself hurt.”

“That’s all well and good, miss, but I think I should take him down to the station and ask him a few questions myself.”

“Please officer, please don’t.” Layla panicked and grabbed the officer’s arm. “He’s taking me on a surprise vacation and it was all my fault. You’re married,” she gestured at his wedding band, “and I bet your wife pulled a few crazy stunts before your wedding.”

He snorted. “She started crying because the florist put carnations in her wedding bouquet. I’m not even sure what a carnation is.”

“See? Please, let him go. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

The officer looked from her to Richard, who was still bent over with his hands on the jeep, and back to her. “Very well.” He patted her kindly on the hand. “Next time, missy, have your hissy fits at home; not on the side of the motorway.”

Layla forced herself to smile. “Yes, officer. Thank you.”

Richard slowly straightened himself as the officer walked back to his car. He walked to Layla’s side of the jeep and held the door for her. She got in and he slammed the door shut. He walked over to his side and got back in and shut the door. The patrol car pulled out into traffic and the officer waved at them. They both waved back.

“Richard,” Layla said, but he held up a single finger and she stopped.

He fastened his safety belt, turned off the hazard lights, and merged back into the traffic.

After a minute, he said, “I’m going camping. The next exit is in about ten kilometres. You have that long to decide if you’re coming with me or if I should take you back home first.”

“Richard,” she started again, but he shushed her once more.

“Not another word. Just tell me if you’re coming or not, and don’t talk to me otherwise until I tell you that you can.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Richard hadn’t said a word in hours. His only response to her saying she wanted to go camping with him had been a sharp nod. He hadn’t looked at her the entire time, staring straight ahead at the road as the miles slipped by. The veins in his arms stood out in sharp relief against his forearms as he gripped the wheel, and she could take his pulse without touching him by the way the vein in his neck was throbbing. She had tried to bridge the invisible wall stretching between them by placing her hand on his thigh where it had rested so many times before, but for the first time he didn’t cover it with his own and eventually she gave up and took it back. She had spent the last few hours staring sightlessly out the window as the scenery shifted into the rugged rocks and swells of the Yorkshire highlands.

Layla wasn’t exactly sure where they were when he turned off the main road onto a graveled course that lead back into crumpled hillsides covered with a primeval forest that scattered like dandelion puffs before a wish into the fields below. Their progress was eventually halted by a large farm gate set into an old wooden rail fence that stretched out across the meadows in either direction and he spoke for the first time. “Can you open that?”

She hopped out of the jeep, swung open the huge gate and then closed it once he drove through. She got back in the jeep and she looked at him, hoping for at least a ‘thank you’ but he continued driving without comment. Up the road he pulled to a stop as an older couple came out of an old house and waved to them. He rolled down his window as they approached.

“You must be Richard,” the woman said. She had a head of long silver hair that gleamed and the face of a woman who has aged but not grown old. She lifted a basket, “I packed a hamper of treats for you two. Lovebirds always need some nice snacks.”

“That’s very kind of you, Gemma,” Richard said, and Layla was surprised at his congenial tone.

“Now, we put you two kids in pitch seven; it’s got the nicest view of the lake. We’ll bring up some more wood for you every few days,” the old man said, his mouth barely viewable through his heavy grizzled beard, “but other than that we’ll just leave you two to yourselves.”

“Thank you, Seamus.” Gemma handed Richard the basket through the window and he passed it to Layla to hold.

“You two enjoy yourselves, and if you need anything, just let us know.”

The two waved them off, their arms around each other’s waists. Richard followed the gravel path back into the woods. The dappled sunlight made it difficult to see far into the forest, but she could hear the singing of wild birds as they continued, and eventually flashes of blue off to the side, which she realized must be the lake that Seamus had mentioned.

Layla watched as the blue got closer and eventually the path broke free of the forest and she could see the expanse of water, a tree-freckled island in the middle of it that stretched out to the hills on the other side. Richard stopped the jeep, and she realized he had pulled into a little semi-circular clearing in the forest which must be their pitch. There was a firepit with Adirondack chairs around it and a large stack of firewood. “What is that?” she asked, pointing at a large round canvas structure.

“That’s a yurt. The Finnessey’s have turned part of their farm into a luxury camping site. I thought having some of the amenities of home about might make your first camping trip a bit easier to bear.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond. She had been expecting sleeping bags and a tent. She walked over to the yurt and untied the fastenings on the heavy canvas flaps. She pulled one back and looked inside. The sunlight streamed inside, causing the hardwood floor to glow. A queen-sized bed sat on the far side, the wrought iron frame piled high with pillows and fluffy blankets. There was a sofa and chair to one side, next to a wood-burning stove, and a little table and chairs with a vase of flowers sitting on it. She turned around to look at Richard in amazement, but he studiously avoided looking at her. “The little building right over there,” he pointed to a small wood-shingled building about fifty metres away, “has a bathroom with hot water, and a small kitchen in case we don’t want to cook over the fire.”

“This is lovely, Richard. Truly.”

“I rented out the whole campground so we could have some privacy. We’ll be the only ones here this week. I’m going to go take a walk. There’s food in the cooler in the back of the jeep if you get hungry.” He handed her the keys. “Don’t go in the water by yourself, and if you get lost, stay put and yell periodically.”

He turned around and started walking down the path.

“Richard,” Layla said, a quaver in her voice she couldn’t disguise, “when will you be back?”

He didn’t turn around. “I’m not sure. Send out a search party if I’m not back by dark.”

 

Two hours later, Richard walked back into their pitch. Everything was quiet and the jeep was securely locked. He pulled aside the netting draped across the opening to the yurt to see if Layla was there. The first thing he noticed were her hiking boots, carefully placed at the foot of the bed. Layla’s habit at home was to kick off her shoes the moment she walked in the door, and he was constantly picking them up and putting them out of the way. She had brought in the cooler of food and placed it against the wall, and the basket of treats was sitting on top of it. As he looked around, he realized she had unpacked the entire jeep and carefully stowed their gear for the week so they would have easy access to all of it without it being in the way.

He stepped towards the bed where Layla lay sleeping. He looked down at her curled into a ball on top of the blankets, so different from her relaxed sprawl in their bed at home, not even wrapped around a pillow; for all the pillows on the bed, none of them were his, and none of them would give her comfort.  Her tightly closed eyes were rimmed red, the salt crusted marks of tears on her cheeks, and the last few angry knots in his shoulders released themselves to be replaced by a gnawing guilt that he had made her cry.

He sat on the little sofa so he wouldn’t wake her and took off his own shoes and then his jeans. He stretched out behind her on the bed and wrapped an arm around her, awkwardly holding her in her curled position. The touch woke her and she rolled over to face him; her eyes were bloodshot and the only thing she managed to choke out were the words, “I’m so sorry,” before she started crying again. She sobbed so hard her body shook like it would break apart and he held her tightly and stroked her hair until she fell asleep again, clinging to him like a dying woman grasping a priest’s hand and begging for absolution she knew she didn’t deserve.

He tugged at the blanket folded over the end of the bed with his feet until he could grab it with his hand and spread it over both of them. “I’m sorry, too, my sweet Layla,” he whispered against her temple. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” His own tears started as he thought about the hours of loneliness he had put her through as she sat by his side. He rolled onto his side, gathering her in his arms, hooking his leg over hers until their bodies were pressed against each other as fully as possible. “We’ll fix this, sweetness; I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

Layla woke to find herself snuggled into Richard’s chest, her hands tucked under her chin. His arms were wrapped around her, one of his large hands cradling the back of her head. His breathing was slow and steady and she took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of laundry detergent and cologne and him. Her head ached and her eyes felt as if they had been wrapped in sandpaper from all the crying she had done but she felt more at peace than she had in the last month of transcontinental flights, eighty hour workweeks, and then to top it all off, the call yesterday. She had asked for a week to make a decision, knowing it was something she couldn’t decide without consulting him, but it sat heavy in her stomach. She had planned on broaching the topic on the drive up here, but that had gone out the window with the map and she had succumbed to her own nerves and ran away.

The sunlight made the wooden floors glow like amber as she pressed a soft kiss to the center of his chest, relieved to be back in his arms, that he was willing to touch her again. The slight movement woke him and he kissed her on her forehead. She looked up at him and whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes flooded with tears that she fought to keep from spilling, and he kissed her eyelids, brushing them away with his lips.

“I’m sorry too. There’s no excuse for how I treated you. I don’t care how furious I was, there is no excuse for ignoring you for hours and then abandoning you in the middle of nowhere.” He kissed her softly and she could taste her own salt on his lips.

She tucked her head back under his chin. “I shouldn’t have run.”

A soft chuckle rumbled through him and his hand slowly traced her spine. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I bet I looked ridiculous.” She wriggled one of her arms out from between them and draped it over his waist, needing to hold him and not just be held.

“It didn’t look funny to me. When I was chasing you, all I could see was a horrific vision of you getting hit by a speeding automobile before I could get to you and keep you safe. And all the way up here that’s what I was seeing, you getting killed by a drunk driver and I kept wondering, ‘What did I do to you that makes potential death an acceptable alternative to being with me?’”

She looked up at him again, her eyes wide open in horror, placing her hand on his cheek. “Oh, Richard, that’s not what I meant.” She stroked the pain lines creasing his forehead. “I always want to be with you.”

“Then why did you run? I spent a lot of effort planning this week for us, and you were going to throw it away.”

Layla opened her mouth to try and explain but he kept talking. “And it’s not just that you ran, and could have been hurt, though that is definitely the most important thing. The police got involved, Layla. If he had arrested me for assault, do you know what that would do to my career? Actor arrested for assaulting fiancée on side of motorway would be the headline, and they would dig up the pictures of when Joshua put you in the hospital and assume that I did that to you. And that’s the headline on every celebrity website – a picture of me punching someone in the face from Spooks next to a picture of you battered and bloody – and that _never_  goes away.”

“But you didn’t hit me. You’ve never hit me.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should understand that better than anyone; you work in the industry. People believe the rumor rather than the truth, and it wouldn’t matter if you spent the next ten years yelling at the top of your lungs that I didn’t do it. People wouldn’t believe you. My career would be over. I need you to understand that. I have never felt so humiliated in my life as I was this morning. And while I would chase after you again to keep you safe, I would appreciate it if you don’t make me choose between my career and you again. What you do affects me, especially once we get married.”

She pulled back from him but he wouldn’t let her go, keeping her wrapped in his embrace. “I couldn’t know that the police would show up.” She sounded defensive even to herself.

“What did you think would happen? Did you honestly think I would let you go like that?”

She stared at his chest. “No,” she whispered.

“You knew I would come after you.”

“Yes.”

“Did you think you could outrun me? That you were going to get away?”

Her shoulders slumped under his gently delivered queries. “No.”

“So you knew I was going to catch you. Which means that we either would have had the fight right there on the side of the road, or I would try and get you back in the car with you fighting me the whole way. Do either of these options sound like good choices?”

“No.”

“Then why? Help me understand what I did to make you respond like that so it won’t happen again.”

“Because I was being stupid.” She glared at him. “No, don’t look at me that way, you used the word, too. I was all wrapped up in my head and I was hurt that you didn’t go to Fashion Week with me, and I had been telling myself you didn’t care about my work, and you didn’t care about the wedding, and it turned into you didn’t care about me, and that’s stupid and patently false. But I was caught up in the stupid anger spiral and I just couldn’t deal with it and I didn’t want to spend a week sleeping in the dirt with someone who couldn’t be bothered to care about the things I think are important. I ask you what you want and you say ‘whatever you want will be perfect.’ But I don’t want it to be  _my_  wedding, I want it to be  _our_ wedding.”

“Darling, do you really think I would make you sleep on the ground for a week?” He stroked his fingers against her cheek. “You would be miserable. I sometimes think you love our bed more than you love me.” His amusement rippled through the words.

“It’s true, I do. You outrank the bathtub, though.” She giggled and he pinched her on the bum.

“You’re an impertinent lass.” He pressed against her, rolling her to her back as he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him, one hand in his hair, holding him as she parted her lips under his. He licked into her mouth, claiming her again, reestablishing their connection. She smiled as he kissed her on her nose. “You said camping, and that’s what I think of. Tents and dirty and getting attacked by flying animals.”

“Yeah, and I said ‘no presents for my birthday’ and you saw a long weekend in Tuscany touring wineries and having sex all over a rented villa. Sometimes I think we talk different languages.”

Her eyes narrowed as she started to put fragments of conversation together. “Is that why you don’t give me input about our wedding? You don’t know how I’m going to take what you say?”

He rolled over on to his back and stared at the roof of their temporary home. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“How are you going to mess it up?”

“You are so good at what you do and making things beautiful and breathtaking. I don’t want to pick the wrong thing.”

She propped herself up on an elbow she could see his face and rested her hand over his heart. “What you like isn’t the wrong thing.”

He scoffed. “I don’t know anything about tuxedos. Before I met you I paid someone to dress me.”

“Would you feel better if I picked out three tuxes that I approve of and let you choose which one you like the best?”

His eyes roamed over her face, looking to see if she was teasing him. “Honestly, yes. It would be a relief.”

“Do you want me to do that for everything else, too? I can give you three different types of invitations and you can pick, or say I like the writing on that one but the pattern on that one?”

He nodded. “That would make it much easier for me. Would that give you the input you need to feel like I was being involved?”

“Yes. I am just scared that I’m going to pick something you hate, and I don’t want your memories of our wedding to be about the atrocious centerpieces or something like that.

His laughter filled the yurt, driving out the chill that had hovered there since their arrival. “I don’t think I remember the centerpieces from any of the weddings I’ve been too. Unless they are so tall you can’t see the people sitting across from you. Or the ones that are so tall it’s like there is a tree growing out of the middle of the table.”

“Okay, see now I know a little bit of what to avoid.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “ _That’s_  the sort of feedback you want?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you wanted me to have opinions on hydrangeas versus peonies.”

“Do you  _have_  opinions on hydrangeas versus peonies?”

“ _No,_  that was why I was telling you to do whatever you wanted.”

Layla started laughing. “Okay, so I promise no more bridezilla moments or jumping out of vehicles at inappropriate locations.” She kissed him on his chin and rested her head on his chest again. Richard ran his fingers through her hair, a soothing ritual for both of them.

Richard cleared his throat and then said quietly, “I know which day of the month your magazine hits the newsstand.”

“You do?”

“Yes, and I go get a pint of chocolate ice cream and your magazine and I come home and read it. I can always tell which stories are yours before I even see the byline.”

She propped herself up on her elbow again. “You can?”

He nodded. “It’s why I worry about messing up your vision if I offer an opinion.”

“Baby, you tell me whatever you want and I’ll make it beautiful. We’re a team.” She kissed him softly. “I’m starting to think we should talk to each other more and the voices in our heads less.

“Okay, then why don’t you have a subscription to your own magazine?”

“Because by the time it comes out in print I’m sick of seeing it.”

“Oh.” He digested that information. “I thought it was because you didn’t want me to see it. Like you didn’t want me involved in your work at all.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, you have a bookshelf full of other magazines, but not your own.”

“I have access to it at work.”

“Well, if you ever need access to it at home, I have the last two years of it in a box in my office.”

“Two years?”

He smiled like a bashful six year old boy that has just gotten caught leaving flowers for the cute girl in his class. “I ordered some back issues.”

“You have two years of my magazine in a box in your office,” she repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.”

She rested her head on his chest and muttered, “That’s some weird porn, man.” She giggled and then started laughing as Richard quickly pinned her to the bed, straddling her hips and holding her hands by her head.

“No, I keep my porn in bed with me.”

“Am I your porn?”

“You are better than any porn, my Layla.” He crushed his mouth against hers, needing her to yield to him, and she did, so sweetly. He groaned as her lips parted, as she invited him into her mouth, as she lifted her hips and rubbed against him.

“Richard, will you fuck me?” she whispered.

“God, yes.” He sat back on his heels and stripped off his shirt as she pulled her tee over her head. He popped open the front clasp to her bra and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth without hesitation. His hand closed over her other breast and squeezed as his teeth tugged at the sensitive tip. She groaned deep in her throat as she arched up against his mouth, both of her hands in his hair.

“I need you to fuck me out of my head and back into my body.”

“Fuck, Layla, you can’t just say things like that to me.” He sat up and undid the button on her jeans.

“Why not?” She lifted her hips so he could pull them down with her knickers. He stood and shucked off his pants and climbed back on the bed and she wrapped her legs around his hips and started circling her hips against him.

“Because,” he bent and sucked the lightly freckled skin of her breast until she scraped her nails against his shoulders, and he licked the purple mark he had created on her, “I don’t want to lose control with you.”

“Please, Richard,” she whimpered as she ground up against him again, feeling her own response to him flaring as he hardened between her legs, “I want you to lose control. I want you to take me, to own me, to fuck me until the only thing that matters is this, here, between us.”

He growled. She was surprised at the actual growl as he kissed her, and then his teeth raked her bottom lip and he tugged at it and she responded with a bite of her own and it was feral and sweet like wild honey. He lifted her hips with one hand and plunged deep inside her, and it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t slow, but he threw his head back as he buried himself in her body with an exultant cry to the heavens of thankfulness and remorse.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and he held her hands above her head as he fucked her deep and hard and she cried, tears streaming down her face as he whispered ‘I love you’ over and over again. The words coursed through her veins like liquid heat, anti-venom against the poisons of the day, salving all the wounds of imagination and neglect.

He pushed his middle two fingers into her mouth and she sucked and licked them, and by the way his eyes rolled back she could tell the sensation was going straight to his cock. His fingers stroked her cheeks as she sucked on the improvised gag and he reluctantly pulled them from her mouth before he applied them to her clit. She bucked off the bed at his first touch and it didn’t take much longer than that before she was begging him to let her come. His fingers swirled around her throbbing clit and he shifted the angle he was slamming into her and he hit that spot that she loved so much and she screamed, pulling against his hand that held her arms over her head, but he held her down and kept pounding into her wetness with the quiet confidence of a man who knows exactly what he is doing. He finally gave in to her whimpered pleas and told her to come for him as he flicked her clit with his thumb.

She didn’t make a sound, or maybe she did but it was in a register that he couldn’t hear. Her head fell back and her mouth fell open and her eyes screwed shut. Her legs were like iron rods clamped around his waist and her pussy was contracting around his pulsing cock but he wasn’t done yet. As soon as he felt her legs relax, he let go of her wrists and hooked his elbows under her legs, bending her knees back towards her shoulders as he continued to claim her body. He placed his hand around her throat, not needing to squeeze, just a warm reminder of her trust for him, that he would never ever hurt her, even when she was most vulnerable. She grabbed his head, pulling him down for a kiss, and she plundered his mouth, taking him as much as he was taking her and she wasn’t going to last much longer, she was still flying too high not to end up in orbit again in moments, but she whispered, “I love you, Richard. Always you. I will never ever leave you.”

The words were what Richard needed even as much as her body wrapped around his in so many ways. This was what he needed from her as he stared into her wide open eyes that were so oddly focused in this instant when normally they were glazed from pleasure. “You are my heart. I would die without you.” He lost control, as he had feared he would. The tears filled his eyes as he came inside her, and she came with him, and they were lost together, always together, even as they shattered into thousands of pieces and remade themselves, embedding in their own souls pieces of the other.


	4. Chapter 4

Layla watched the glowing embers of the fire. They seemed to breathe, almost sentient, as the coals snowed over into ash. The dark surrounded her like a tangible presence, its heartbeat the ripple of the lake lapping at the shore and the trees whispering to each other. Richard sat in the chair next to her, staring up at the stars.

“Does food automatically taste better when it’s cooked outside?” She rubbed her stomach with both hands, trying to remember the last time she had eaten this much.

Richard looked over at her. “You enjoyed dinner, I take it?”

“I didn’t know potatoes could taste like that. If you feed me like this all week I won’t be able to fit into my jeans when we go home.” She undid the button on her jeans. High waists may be fashionable but they were not accommodating to the camping lifestyle.

“I can help you burn off some of those calories if you like.”

Layla ignored the unsubtle purr in Richard’s voice. “And the steak. What did you do to it?”

Richard chuckled at her obvious change in topic. “Bacon wrapped filet mignon.”

“If you hadn’t already asked me to marry you, I would have proposed to it.”

“I almost gave you mine just to listen to the sounds you made while you were eating.”

“You should have.” Layla wasn’t sure if she was teasing or not.

“I’ll just make you make those sounds later.”

Again the obvious flirtation. Again it was ignored. “And this beer! I don’t normally drink beer but this is good beer. Where did you find the beer?”

“Owls won’t come near the fire.”

Layla looked over at him, confusing wrinkling her brow. She didn’t think she’d had  _that_  much beer. “What?”

“Owls won’t come near the fire.”

His answer still didn’t make any sense. Was that the name of a market? “Um, okay.”

It was his turn to look confused. “You’re nervous and I thought it was about owls.”

“How do you know I’m nervous?”

He looked at her, his chin down and one eyebrow raised and Layla laughed half-heartedly. “So, if it’s not getting attacked by owls, what are you nervous about?”

She put her feet up on the chair and hugged her knees to her chest. “I got a call at work yesterday.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I met the editors of ELLE at Fashion Week and we chatted several times and had lunch together. It turns out their assistant fashion editor is leaving, and they offered me the position.”

“That’s wonderful!” He paused as he considered how she was hunched over, and the lack of a smile. “What am I missing? Why isn’t this wonderful?”

“Not ELLE UK. ELLE.”

“Which is located where?”

“New York.”

Richard nodded thoughtfully. “So you would move.”

“If I took the position it would require me relocating.” She stared at the fire, gathering the courage to say the next few words. “I just hope it wouldn’t be by myself.”

“No, if you decide to go, I’m going with you.”

Layla relaxed slightly at his adamant tone, but the mess of venomous snakes in her stomach continued to slither in nauseating circles. “But your life, your friends, your job; all that is here.”

“I’ll always be going on location, but my home is where you are, Layla. So you don’t need to worry about that. I will happily go with you if you want this job.”

“This is a huge opportunity for me. It’s the same job title, but ELLE has a much bigger stature in the industry for fashion reporting, and the fact that they even offered is an enormous compliment.” She said the words as if she were trying to convince herself of their truthfulness.

“Then what’s holding you back, sweetness?”

Her laugh was almost hysterical as she started to tick off all the concerns running laps around each other in her head. “I wouldn’t feel right showing up at a brand new job pregnant. I told them I was getting married on New Year’s Eve and that I wouldn’t be able to start until February 1st. And even if it doesn’t happen right away, it will happen. I mean, you got me pregnant while I was on the pill. Off the pill you’ll probably only have to look at me and I’ll get knocked up.” She ignored his laugh. “And then if we wait, how long? And I don’t really want to wait, and I don’t want  _you_  to have to wait, but even if we move and we wait another year or so to have a baby, maternity leave is horrible over there, and then what if I decide when I see our baby that I don’t want to go back to work, I’ve moved all of us to New York for no reason. But if I say no, what if I never get another offer like this? I mean, these are important people in my field asking me to work with them. It’s not Anna Wintour, but just a rung below that. This could be huge and yet it could be the wrong time and  _I just don’t know_. And do I want to raise a child in New York City? Can you? I mean, I know you could, but it doesn’t seem like a very child-friendly place from the times I’ve been there.”

Richard held out his hand to her. “Come here.”

She walked over to him and he pulled her down into his lap. She slung her legs over the arm of his chair and rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled into him as he wrapped his arms around her. “How long do you have to make the decision?”

“I told them I’d call them when I got back, so we have this week.”

“Well, then, I think we shouldn’t try and make a decision tonight. This is one of those big choices. So let’s talk about it over the course of the week, and we’ll see where we end up.”

She tilted her face so she was looking up at him. “You’re really okay with me dragging you across the ocean?”

He smiled down at her. “You wouldn’t be dragging me. We’d be walking hand in hand.” He kissed her softly.

She went back to resting against him and watching the fire. Eventually she asked, “What’s your initial gut reaction saying?”

His arms tightened around her. “I think you should take it. This is what you’ve been working for.”

“And the baby?”

“Babies will come when they come. We’ll figure out how to make it all work.” He kissed her on the top of her head.

A few minutes later, Layla got back to the issue that was most pressing to her at the moment. “Are you going to cook like that all week? Pleasesayyes.”

He laughed and rubbed a hand over her stomach, slipping his fingers inside her unbuttoned jeans. “Well, I was hoping you would help and I could teach you how to cook over a fire as well.”

“As long as you are aware that there is no take-away if I screw something up.”

“I am aware of that.”

She kissed his throat, flicking her tongue against it teasingly. “Then I will gladly learn how to play with fire.”

“Well, first lesson, you’re not actually supposed to  _play_  with the fire.”

“BOOOOOOOOring.” She reached for his beer and finished the last few swallows.

There was a long pause before he responded to her outburst. “So you think I’m boring, do you?”

Layla laughed. “I recognize that tone of voice. That’s the ‘I’m in trouble now’ tone of voice.”

“Mmmm. And what do you think I’m going to say next in the ‘you’re in trouble now’ tone of voice?” He nipped at her neck, sucking just enough to leave a faint mark.

Layla moaned softly as she slid her hand into his hair. “Head down, ass up?”

His warm tongue laved the mark he had left behind. “Smart girl.”

Layla laughed as he carried her into the yurt. “I think I’m going to  _like_  camping.”


	5. Chapter 5

He kisses her softly on the back of her neck and pulls the blankets up around her as he slips out of the bed to stoke the fire in the old wood stove. The yurt has gotten cold overnight and he doesn’t want her to wake to the chill. A few breaths on the glowing embers, a carefully selected handful of tinder, and then a choice selection of kindling and the heat increases greatly. He pulls on his jeans and the ugly old jumper that has been relegated to fit only for camping and heads out to get water in the blue and white speckleware coffeepot that has been stained black around the bottom from heating countless pots of water over decades.

The kettle gets set on top of the stove to start warming and he gets out the bag of coffee beans he ground right before they left and the  _cafetière_  and sets them on the table as he waits for the water to heat. He considers getting back into bed with her, but he doesn’t want to disturb her sleep. Granola, yoghurt, and fresh blackberries are divided into bowls and he drizzles a spoonful of honey over the top. She has taught him a fondness for sweet things that extends beyond chocolate.

He goes back to the edge of the bed, watching her sleep. There are so many memories he has of her like this. She has never been a morning person, and he is the one to get up first in the morning almost every day. He remembers the first time he looked down at her sleeping in his bed; the morning after their first time together, when he had promised to fuck her senseless and she had in turn scorched herself onto his soul. She had been like this, sprawled boneless, her mouth slightly open, her hair a bramble of autumn waves that stirred as she breathed. He had left her there, trying to convince himself that she would be a beautiful memory and nothing more, but then she had come to him in the shower, and he had come in her in the shower, and it had become the first beautiful memory in a long string of them that led unerringly to his future.

She wrinkled her nose and one hand snaked its way out from under the pile of quilts to brush her hair back from tickling her face and she sighed and was still again. The scar on her forehead was an addition to that first memory, and even as it faded, he could remember watching her with it livid and new as she slept next to him in their bed. He hadn’t been able to sleep through the night for days after she came home from the hospital. All he could think of was how close he had come to losing her. He had sworn in those bitter reveries in the moonlit hours of the night that he would do whatever it took, sacrifice whatever it was called for, to make sure he never faced another day without her smile, without her nervous babble where she spilled her thoughts in a turbulent stream of worry that carried her away with them, without her leaving her shoes in the middle of the hall and the feel of her hand on his thigh as they sat together, always together.

There were so many memories of her in their bed, writhing, panting, screaming his name. Her face flushed pink as she came, and came, and came again, the sweat glistening on her face with a delicate sheen. Her on top of him, riding him to oblivion, his hands on her hips or on her breasts; her beneath him, arms pinned above her, or wrapped around him, or scrabbling for purchase in the sheets as she lost control as he drove her to the precipice and beyond. The sated smiles, the begging gasps for air, the way her lips curved as she moaned his name, all with a backdrop of their pillows and linens and the heavy wrought iron frame of their bed.

He didn’t think that bed would be shipped to New York. Too heavy, too bulky, too impractical. And there were memories that he would gladly leave behind with it. Unbidden the image of her knotted up in agony as she sobbed over the loss of their baby came back to his mind and his helplessness in the face of her grief surged through him again, leaving behind its bitter heaviness weighing on his shoulders. He never wanted to see that kind of pain on her face again, pain that left lines etched around her eyes and carved around her mouth that spoke of suffering more potently than the scar that limned misfortune across her forehead. Even though he logically knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent the failure of that little flicker of life to thrive, he had felt like a failure that she was hurting and he hadn’t stopped it from happening.

He had promised himself as he had held her through the hours of crying and tormented sleep that next time it would not end like this. He had planned it all in his head, replacing the picture in front of him with the vision of her tossing and turning in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in with her belly swollen and round, stealing his pillows to make herself a nest, of there being only that one perfect position for her to sleep in that meant that he had to reach over the moat of pillows that surrounded her to kiss her goodnight. Of her transgressing that moat to nudge him and tell him that she needed to go to the hospital. Of her, a tiny infant in her arms, propped up against that wrought iron headboard while she nursed, circles under her eyes but a beatific smile on her face, and since they had decided on a new year’s eve wedding, the image of a tiny Christmas stocking hanging between theirs from the footboard.

He blinked a few times and put that hope in a box on the shelf to be brought back down later. Babies would come when they came; he had told her that the night before, and he told himself that again. Even with New York pressing the pause button, there would be time in the future for bedtime stories and getting woken at three am by a little finger poking him in the cheek and saying “I had a bad dweam, can I sweep wiff you and Mummy?” and his copy of  _The Hobbit_  would slumber like Smaug a few more years before he pulled it off the shelf to read it to his child. “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit” were timeless words, and would wait until they were called for.

He turned away from the bed and went to go finish making the coffee. He told himself New York would be good for him as he worked the press; new connections, new opportunities for his career, maybe even doing Broadway. They would find a new bakery for lazy Saturday mornings and a new bed in which to make memories. He poured the coffee into two heavy earthenware mugs. The earthy aroma evoked its own memories. The first time he had seen her put on her heels, the sound of the door shutting behind her after their date and his frustration with himself at not asking her to stay, the sound of her first, “I love you,” standing in his kitchen which in that moment became their kitchen, as jet lag met late night at work and found themselves remade in each other.

He carried the mugs of coffee to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. “I’ve got coffee.” The magic words and the aroma of the roasted beans caused her to stir again. She rubbed a hand through her hair, messing it into an even more disheveled state. One eye opened and then the other. She made a noise like a sleepy marmot and then both arms made their way out of the blankets and she stretched until he heard something pop. She wriggled  her way into a sitting position and reached for the mug with both hands, wrapping her elegant fingers around the warm pottery. She took a sip and her eyes closed as she let her head fall back against the headboard. “I love you.”

He smiled and drank his own coffee. The wrought iron behind her was similar to, yet so different from, the one at home. They would make memories here, and they would make memories in New York, and wherever they went together. Together was the most important part. “I love you, too, my sweet Layla.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Layla stood in the entrance to the yurt, looking out at the beautiful afternoon. The sun shone with that particular intensity characteristic to early fall that turned the sky a particularly intense shade of blue and made the earth release its scent like perfume applied to warm skin. The gentle ripples of the lake sparkled in the light, the soft whisper of the water hitting the shore combining with the songs of birds and the whisperings of the gossiping trees to make her feel like her and Richard were the only people on earth.

“Did you know,” she said, as she looked at Richard, who was stretched out in one of the chairs around the firepit, “that I’ve never had sex outside?”

He turned to look at her, a smile starting to form on his face. “Is that so?”

She nodded and bent over to take off her shoes, making sure to turn around first so he was granted a show of her rear. She flipped them off and then pulled off her socks as well before she stood back up.

“It is.” She undid the button on her jeans and pulled down the zipper. “Did you also know,” she said, as she started to slide her jeans down her legs, “that I have never been skinny dipping?”

“I did not know that.” He watched as she slid her jeans completely off, leaving her in a pair of lime green lace knickers. He swallowed in anticipation as her hands went to the hem of her shirt.

She pulled her shirt over her head and he sighed softly watching the stretch of her body as she pulled it up, her chest lifting and stomach stretching as her arms reached their apex before she dropped the shirt to the floor. “And I seem to remember that you said that we’re the only ones up here.” She reached behind her and undid the clasp to her bra, letting the lime straps start to slowly slide down her arms. She crossed her arms across her chest, keeping the bra in place, as she waited for a reply. Richard looked up at her face with a sheepish grin at having gotten distracted.

“You are correct. We are the only ones up here.” His voice was already sounding deeper and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

“Well then,” she let the bra drop to the floor and she could swear that she heard him growl as he stood, “I think maybe we should cross those off of my ‘I never’ list this week.”

“I agree with you.” He reached behind his head and grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled it off. Layla hesitated for a moment as she watched him. “Damn,” she whispered.

“Did you mean to say that out loud?”

She grinned. “I don’t think you’ll ever stop having that effect on me.” She shimmied her knickers off and tossed them at him. He caught them easily and tucked them in the pocket of his jeans which he started to undo.

Layla put on a pair of flip-flops and headed for the lake. “You’re not going to wait for me?” Richard called after her.

She spun around and yelled, “You’ll have to catch me.”

“Oh I’ll catch you alright.” He sat down long enough to yank off his shoes and jeans and then stood up again. Layla squealed and started running for the lake as he began to chase after her. She kicked off the flip-flops as she hit the sand and splashed into the water.

She screamed and ran right back out into Richard’s arms. “Oh my  _God,_  that water is freezing!”

“It’s a lake, darling, it’s not a bathtub.”

She looked at the water like it had betrayed her. “But it’s  _sunny_  out!”

He chuckled as she stood on his feet and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s a big lake. It’s never going to get really warm.”

“I think I changed my mind about skinny dipping. It can stay on my ‘I never’ list.”

Richard shook his head. “No, we’re going to do this.”

“But it’s cold. You haven’t even touched the water yet. Trust me, you don’t want to go in there. It’s sooooo cold.”

He laughed at her dramatic shivering. “The key is to go in all at once. It gets the shock over with.”

“You are a crazy person.”

He carefully turned, stepping a little bit at a time so that she wouldn’t fall off of his feet. “See that dock down there?” He pointed a short way down the shore. “We’ll walk down there, and jump in together, okay?”

She looked up at him. “You’re not going to say you’ll jump and then just watch me jump and then laugh, right?”

He kissed her on her nose. “I promise. We’ll go in together, hand-in-hand.”

“Okay, but then I get to get right back out again if I want.”

He smiled down at her, and she wondered why it looked like he was fighting back a smirk. “If you want.”

They walked down to the dock and stepped up onto the wooden structure. “Walk to the end and jump off or run and leap?”

She looked up at him. He had been her run and leap. Completely insane and impetuous and without precedent in her well-organized and disciplined life. “Run and leap.”

He looked into her eyes and squeezed her hand, “Run and leap.”

He counted to three and they took off running. He matched his stride to her shorter one and when they reached the end they both leapt into the air, shouting with anticipation and hitting the water in huge cannonball splashes fractions of a second apart, hand-in-hand.

Layla surfaced and yelled with the shock of the cold water. She shoved her hair out of her face, cursing Disney for all their mermaid lies, and saw Richard come up for air, laughing with exhilaration.

“You are a crazy man,” she said as she rubbed her hands over her arms while treading water.

“C’mere, sweetness.” He reached out a hand to her and she took it and he pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, trying to absorb some of his heat into her. He slowly swam his way over to where he could put his feet on the bottom and then wrapped his arms around her. “Let me see if I can warm you up a bit.”

He kissed her softly and she smiled against his mouth and then wriggled against him as she got comfortable. He cupped her rear once she was settled and held her against him as they kissed. She licked at the corners of his mouth and he tugged at her lip and then started kissing down her neck.

“I have an idea,” he murmured against her throat.

“And what’s that?” she asked as her head fell back, letting the sun warm her face.

“Lay back.”

“What?”

“Lay back. Just float.”

She looked at him questioningly but lay back on the water trustingly, her hair floating around her like seaweed. He held her hips and helped her stretch out on the water’s surface before he hooked her knees over his shoulders. He kissed along the inside of her thigh, letting the rough scratch of a few day’s beard tease her skin as he adjusted their depth in the water so she could float comfortably, but he would still have unfettered access to her. She giggled at the slightly awkward arch of her back as she figured out what he was doing and tried to help him, but when he ran his tongue along the line where her thigh gave way to her folds she gasped at the contrast between his hot mouth and her cold skin.

Richard cupped her rear in both of his hands and lifted her to his mouth. He teased her with fleeting brushes of his tongue, the lightest dip into her slit, letting his rough chin rub against her once in a while, until she was digging her heels into his back trying to pull herself closer. He held her just where he wanted her though and continued to slowly tease her until she was bucking against his mouth. With a satisfied smile he finally dipped his tongue between her folds and licked her from bottom to top with a broad flat stroke of his tongue. Her nails scratched against his scalp as he finally touched her clit and he repeated the lick, letting his tongue twirl around her clit this time. He pressed the tip of his tongue against her entrance and slowly pushed inside and heard his name echo over the water.

He curved his tongue inside her, once, twice, and again and moaned as she ground against his mouth. The sound ran through her body, and her nipples that had hardened because of the cold water had hardened again from the way he was making her feel. The delicious contrast between the cold water on her back and the warm sun on her chest combined with the soft firmness of his tongue and, she gasped as he pressed a long hard finger inside her, were all mixing together into a giant maelstrom of sensations that was curling through her body. She could feel her body straining forward like a horse at the starting gate, just waiting for the signal to explode forward. His tongue circled her clit a few more times before he started flicking it with just the tip of his tongue. She grabbed his head at the sensation of her clit vibrating from his tongue and he moaned against her wetness. He sucked her clit into his mouth, scraped his teeth against it and then went back to the steady flick of his tongue. She worked her heels down his back, pulling herself closer to him and his hand bit into her hips, holding her where he wanted her. “Richard,” she cried, and the word choked off in her throat as he slid another finger inside of her. He slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her as he tongued her clit. He could feel her thighs start to tremble as she strained upwards. He opened his eyes and looked up her body, the sharp line of her chin, her breasts thrust upward, one of her hands squeezing and teasing the erect nipples.

He scraped his teeth against her clit as he hooked his fingers inside her and he felt her shudder. He rubbed her g-spot as he tongued her clit, faster and harder and winced as her fingernails dug into his scalp as she clamped her thighs around his head. He kept licking her as she spasmed, stretching out her orgasm as long as he could make it last as the water lapped around them from her shivering form. Slowly she relaxed and he let her go and she floated lazily, her eyes closed and a smile on her face.

“I think I like skinny dipping,” she finally said.

He wrapped his arms around her, and let her rest her head on his shoulder. “Good.”

“There’s one problem though.”

He kissed her temple. “What’s that, sweetness?”

She giggled. “If I try and return the favor, I think I would drown.”

“Hmmmm, that is a problem.”

She stretched her arms behind her so she could link her hands behind his neck. “I think, though, that this cold water could be more of a deterrent for you than it is for me.”

“It might be.” His hands found their way to her breasts and stroked her nipples teasingly.

“So maybe we should go warm up.”

“Maybe we should.”

He tugged her closer to shore until it was easy for her to reach the bottom and they scurried out of the water together. Layla burst into a run and her laughter trailed back like her hair, streaming behind her. Richard caught her easily and threw both arms around her waist and spun in her circles as she gasped with laughter.

“You’re never getting away from me, you know that right?”

She wrapped her arms around him. “I know, but sometimes it is fun getting chased. And even more fun getting caught.”

“Well what should I do with you now that I’ve caught you?” He nuzzled her neck.

“I think we should get a blanket and put it on that patch of grass over there,” she pointed and he looked up, “and make love in the sunshine.”

He walked over to the verdant grass and set her on her feet. “I’ll be right back.” He quickly returned with one of the blankets from the bed and they spread it out on the grass. They both sank to their knees facing each other and he pulled her to him with one hand cupping her neck. They kissed, body pressed against body, for what felt like hours in the sunshine. Mouths moved over necks and shoulders and chests. Hands stroked hair and backs and arms. But always they came back to kissing each other, lips gentle and caressing, tongues gently touching, teeth nipping and biting. She finally stroked her hand down his chest and wrapped her hand around his cock.

He rested his forehead on his shoulder as she stroked him. Layla relished the feel of him in her palm. He was always so intent on pleasuring her that he didn’t always let her love him the way she wanted to. She lifted his head so she could kiss him as she continued to stroke him, feeling him harden in her palm. She swirled her thumb over the head, picking up those first few drops and smearing them against his shaft as she swirled her tongue in his mouth. His hand pressed between her legs and sought out her warmth, sliding one finger and then another inside her in quick succession. She moaned into his mouth as he started pumping them slowly in and out of her in time with the feel of her hand on his cock.

She sucked at his lip, tugging it with her teeth before releasing it as she stared into his blue eyes blown black, just the darkest blue rim visible around the edges. He captured her mouth again, fierce and hard this time. They were mirrors of each other, an arm around the other’s shoulders, a hand moving between the other’s legs, until they couldn’t wait any longer. Richard pushed Layla onto her back and buried himself inside her waiting warmth. He was so close already from Layla’s hand and he groaned with the effort of holding himself still once he had impaled her with his cock. Layla shifted her hips, trying to get comfortable between the feel of him deep inside her and the ground hard beneath her back.

“Roll over,” she said, and he grabbed her waist and rolled with her until he was flat on his back and she was on top of him.

“Oh there we go,” she said as she lifted her hips and then reseated herself. Richard groaned at the feel of her slick heat sliding around him. She leaned forward enough to rest her hands on his chest and started to rock, rolling her hips, letting him slide out and then back in. He rested his hands on her hips, but when he tried to set the pace she resisted. She was going to do this her way, give him the pleasure she wanted to give him. Slow and steady she rode him; she could feel him pushing up harder as she would come down on to him, and she knew he had pulled his feet up to his arse to give him extra leverage.

This was always the flaw in her plan. He knew her body too well; she would try to bring him to orgasm first but it never worked. She would ride him, slow or fast, shallow or deep, and it wouldn’t matter. Just the feel of him between her legs would send her soaring and the width of his cock stretching her open, thrust after thrust after thrust and she would be like she was now, her back arching, scratching his chest, her head falling backwards, gasping for air, and then, he would deliver the coup de grace, his fingers finding her clit and circling and she would convulse and scream and her legs would lock into place around his hips. That was his sign. He pumped himself into her, harder and deeper, and she cried out again and again as she came. He stilled for just a few seconds, letting her grab a breath of air and then rolled her onto her back and began to ride her deep and fast. The sound of their bodies hitting together, her gasps for breath interspersed with his name, him ordering her to ‘come again, come again for me darling,’ as his fingers moved gently over her swollen clit; all of these noises filled the clearing as she screamed one more time, her toes curling, her hands tearing the grass through the blanket. He threw his head back and it blocked out the sun, haloing him like her own dark angel, and his deep cry of pleasure echoed back to her as he emptied himself into her, deep, frantic, erratic thrusts as she made him lose control once again. She wrapped her arms around his back, holding him as his breathing slowed and steadied, and slowly kissed across his temple and down his cheek. “Now, I think it’s your turn to tell me what’s on your ‘I never’ list,” she whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

Layla woke to the sound of rain dropping on the canvas, the song from Bambi playing through her head even though it was the end of September. She listened for a while, able to tell the difference between the rain that hit the tent directly and the deeper notes of the water dripping from overhanging tree branches. She rolled over and snuggled into Richard’s side, the soft cotton of the sheet brushing against her bare skin.

“Still raining?” he asked.

She murmured sleepily and nuzzled against his chest.

“I’m sorry it’s rained so much the last few days.”

She smiled and kissed the skin that was closest to her. “I’m not.”

“Really?”

“Mmmm, If it stopped raining, you would make me put clothes on and go do something. This way I can stay naked and just do you.”

He stroked his hand down her back until it came to rest on her bum, and he squeezed the curve of her cheek.

“I have been thinking about something, though,” she said as she drew circles in his chest hair with one fingertip.

He looked down his chest at her to be confronted with a tangle of autumn waves and one delicate hand. “And what is that?”

She looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest. “You’re scared of water and yet you went skinny-dipping with me.”

She watched a frown of dismissal cross his face. “I’m not scared of water. I’m scared of drowning.”

“You jumped in freezing cold water over your head. With me.” He didn’t say anything and she softly kissed the skin over his heart. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Sacrificing your comfort to cross something off my ‘I never’ list.”

He grunted in disagreement. “It’s not like I set myself on fire.”

“I know. But,” she stopped and her face scrunched in frustration. She shook her head and sat up, disentangling himself from his arms and legs. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

“It’s raining.”

“I know, I just feel the need to get some fresh air.”

He sat up and linked his fingers around her wrist. “What’s going on, Layla?” He slowly stroked his fingers up and down her arm.

“Why don’t you let me love you?” she whispered.

He bent his head towards her. “What was that?”

She turned to face him, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Why don’t you let me love you?” she repeated, her words passing over trembling lips.

“What do you mean, sweetness?”

“I try and thank you for doing something nice for me and you brush it off like it’s not a big deal. You do so many things for me and when I try and show my gratitude, you always make a joke about it and I end up feeling silly. And I don’t like feeling silly for being in love with you.”

He cupped his hand around the side of her face, his thumb brushing away the tear that threatened to fall. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“Then what are you trying to do? Why can’t you let me say thank you and appreciate you, because I know what the difference is between what most women have and what I have in you. Hell, I know the difference all too intimately between what I’ve had in the past and what I have now. You have turned my life gloriously upside down in less than a year and I don’t want you to ever think that I don’t recognize how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

He didn’t say anything but he let go of her and sat back against the headboard.

She stayed where she was on the edge of the bed but turned her head to look at him. “Do you know how lucky I am?”

He wouldn’t look at her. He just shook his head.“I’m the lucky one.”

“This isn’t about me. I know you love me. You show me and tell me and you would crawl over broken glass on your hands and knees if you thought it would help me, but I try and do the smallest thing for you and you brush it off. I propose moving us to another continent and you don’t bat an eye. The only place where you put your will or your opinions or plans or whatever you want above mine is in bed, and as splendid as that is, you still do it to make it all about me. I don’t want to feel like I’m the only person of value in this relationship when I know I’m not.”

“What do you want me to say?”

She surged to her feet and started angrily pacing the floor. “I want you to learn to say ‘You’re welcome’ when I say thank you instead of brushing it off. And I want you to tell me what you’re thinking. For the last few days whenever I’ve brought up New York you tell me that you’re fine with whatever I decide. You can’t tell me that me suggesting to uproot our entire life and the plans we had made together didn’t elicit more of a reaction than ‘sure, whatever you want is fine.’ I’m not in this alone and I don’t want to make all the decisions like I am.”

She grabbed her clothes and started putting them on, feeling too emotionally vulnerable to also be naked. She didn’t hear him cross the floor and she jumped slightly when he put his hands on her hips. Her shoulders slumped and she turned around and rested her forehead on his shoulder. “You share every other part of you with me. Why won’t you share with me your thoughts?”

“What if you don’t like them?” She wasn’t sure if she would have heard him if she hadn’t been standing so close. His shoulders were drawn together, and the way he was curling in around himself was vastly different from his normal commanding presence.

She placed a hand gently against his cheek as her brows drew together in confusion at his nervousness. “Then we’ll disagree,” she said, moving her head to try and get him to look her in the eyes.

He looked at her out of the side of his eyes. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it. What did you think would happen?”

It took him several seconds to respond, but Layla waited. She had a small inkling of what was bothering him but wanted to have him say it. “What if I said I don’t want to go to New York? That I don’t want you to go to New York either. How could you forgive me for that?”

She stroked her hands across his shoulders as she listened to him, trying to calm him with her touch. “Why would I need to forgive you for telling me the truth?”

“But what if you want to go? What if you want to go and I don’t and you have to choose between your career and me? Which would you choose?”

“If we disagreed about something, we’d sit down and talk about it. We’d figure it out together.” She paused for a moment and then pushed onward. “Do you not want to go to New York?”

“It’s not New York. It’s…”

She watched him struggle. His eyes were closed and kept pulling his lips between his teeth and biting them. “What is it?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, pulling at the skin. “I had let myself hope again.” His eyes were still closed.

“Hope?”

He opened his eyes as his hand settled lightly over her stomach. “For a family. For a baby. For,” he trailed off. “I was hoping to be a dad by next Christmas. I’ve lost two babies now, one with Genevieve and one with you, and since you told me you wanted to start trying again in January, I had let myself hope that this time it would work. It would be mine and the pregnancy would be healthy and I… I would finally be a father.”

Layla took a deep breath and slowly let it out, feeling her heart shaking in her chest in response to his quiet words. “You can tell me that.” She took his face in her hands. “Please, Richard. Please tell me that’s what you’re feeling and thinking and hoping. I need to know those things.”

“I didn’t want to make the decision any harder on you. I didn’t want to force you to choose.” His eyes closed again. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

She poked him in the chest until he opened his eyes. “I will never leave you.”

He had rarely seen her look so serious. “You’ll just resent me.”

“No.” She kissed him softly. “You wouldn’t force me to stay. If I decided to go, you would go with me, and I know that about you. But if you never tell me your preferences, then you’re going to end up resenting me for always taking and never giving.”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close to him as he could. “I want to marry you, Layla. I want to marry you and get you pregnant on our honeymoon and I want you to swear at me while you’re pushing and I want to bring you and our baby home and have it be a real home. A real home with kids and a dog underfoot and I want to scold him for hiding his peas in his glass of milk and I want to teach her how to ride a bicycle. But I’m so much older than you and I’ve already achieved so many of my goals. I don’t want to keep you from achieving yours to satisfy my wishes.”

Her hands stroked across his shoulders and back as she talked in an attempt to reassure him. “And I’m young enough where having a baby now doesn’t mean I don’t have lots of time to do other things. If I’m getting offers like this now, who knows what I’ll get a few years from now. Maybe I’ll jump ship to ELLE UK. Maybe I’ll help put London Fashion week on par with New York and Paris. I have options out there. But this here, between us, this is my touchstone.”

“I feel like a weakling,” he whispered against her hair.

“Why?”

“Because I need you so much. Because I would do anything to keep you happy. I can’t imagine having to live the rest of my life without you.”

She snorted. “Well don’t imagine it, because you’re not going to.”

“You don’t know that. What if I make you mad?”

“Well then I run down the road and you catch me and then we have an argument and then we fuck.”

“As easy as that,” he said with disbelief.

“As easy as that. The argument part sucks, but remember when we get to the fucking part, I suck too.”

His laughter filled the yurt and her heart. “I love you, my Layla.”

“I love you too, Richard. And goals change. Children weren’t something that I wanted growing up. I loved telling my mom I was never going to have kids because it would make her so mad, and she would fume and fuss and yell scripture up the stairs at me. And then with Joshua…” She shook her head. “I would never have had children with him. But with you. Sometimes I look at you and my ovaries ache. I want to have babies with you. Maybe not the swearing part because I hear epidurals are pretty nice, and not the peas in the milk part, but little kids running around with your eyes and my hair and making a tiny Orcrist out of cardboard and aluminum so she can dress up like Thorin for Halloween and I can’t think of anything better than that.” She paused and her laughter was shaky. “When you were so keen on me going to New York, I thought it meant that babies weren’t that big of a deal to you.”

“I will support whatever decision you make, and I will be happy with whatever decision you make. But all else being equal, I want to get you pregnant sooner rather than later.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “And this is the point where you sell me on the idea by telling me I’ll get a new wardrobe out of the deal,” she said with barely disguised laughter.

He kissed her, taking his time as his lips moved against hers and not stopping until her laughter had been replaced with breathless sighs. “If you stay here and let me knock you up, I’ll buy you all new clothes and new shoes.”

“Am I going to need new shoes?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Are you going to wear four inch heels while you’re pregnant?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She was genuinely confused.

Richard couldn’t decide whether or not to be amused or concerned by this naïveté. “We’ll save that discussion for a future date.”

“I’m going to have one of those cute pregnancies where it looks like I stuck a football up my shirt and you can’t tell I’m pregnant from behind.”

He put his fingers over her lips. “Let’s not tempt fate.”


	8. Epilogue

Layla looked around the yurt one last time to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind. The sound of the boot shutting outside signaled the end of their holiday. Richard came up behind her and linked his arms around her waist and she rested her hands over his. They stood quietly together for a minute, relaxing in the amber sunlight filtering through the canvas.

“Excited to be leaving?”

She leaned back against him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. “Surprisingly, no.”

“Really?” The word rumbled against her back.

The surprise in his voice made her smile. “Really. I  _am_  looking forward to a real shower but this week was lovely.”

He brushed his lips against her temple. “I’m glad you survived it.”

“It was wonderful. In fact, I think we should make it a tradition.”

“You do?”

She turned in the circle of his arms. “I do. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be a fan of tents and sleeping bags, but this was perfect.” She twined her arms around his neck. “I think we should do it every year. A week of just you and me together, no wireless service, roasting marshmallows over a fire, sex in the sunshine and getting a chance to talk and reconnect and be. It was good for us.”

He lazily stroked one hand up and down the line of her spine as she talked, his other hand falling to her rear. “That’s a different tune than you were singing a week ago.”

“Well, I was wrong.” She smiled up at him as she wiggled her bum against his hand. “And don’t tell me  _you_ ,” she prodded him softly with a finger and he squeezed her rear, “haven’t started planning how to camp with children in tow.”

Laugh lines formed around his eyes as he smiled down her. “How did you know?”

“You always have a plan for how you’re going to get what you want.”

“I have what I want right here.” His other hand joined the first on her bum and pulled her closer. “But,” he continued and she giggled, “did you know that they make backpack carriers for hiking with babies?”

Layla started laughing at his excited expression. “And have you already looked at how old they have to be before they can start skiing?”

The blue of his eyes lightened as he sheepishly nodded. “The standard age for the resorts in France is three, but if we got our own little cabin, we could start younger than that.”

She pulled his head down to her so she could kiss him. “As long as you teach me how to ski first so there’s only one person falling over at a time.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, you don’t know how to ski?”

“I’ve always been more of the sit in the lodge and sip cocoa in front of the fire type. I want to dress like I live in Aspen, but I don’t actually do any of the things that you do in Aspen.”

“But you’ll go skiing with me, won’t you?” The residue of uncertainty in his voice haunted Layla’s heart. She had told him that she wanted him to believe that he was important in their relationship too, and she could tell that her behavior in the past hadn’t always demonstrated that.

“Yes. You teach me to ski and I’ll teach you the difference between houndstooth and herringbone.”

“It’s a deal.”

And they sealed it with a kiss.


End file.
